Rick Sanchez.
The Little Punk Girl's words reached Ian's ears.
He was truly struck as if by a thunderbolt from the heavens.
Ian knew that Outer Universe invasion would bring many things that didn't exist in the DC Universe, but he never imagined that one day he would hear that name in his own DC Universe.
"No, is that correct?"
Ian Kent froze instantly. All his assumptions about God, Heaven, Seraph, and the Seat of Holy Edict collapsed in that instant.
Instead, something far more chaotic, dangerous, and uncontrollable has emerged. Madison's Little Punk Girl is Rick Sanchez?!
He certainly knew who that name represented.
That's Rick from Rick and Morty, a mad scientist who wears a dirty white lab coat and whose pockets are always stuffed with some unknown liquid.
It is also one of the most dangerous and intelligent beings in the universe.
How dangerous is it?
This scientist was an incurable alcoholic who almost always carried his signature transparent flask containing a self-mixed "ultra-strongest alcohol in the universe."
The recipe is said to have been obtained from a destroyed civilization.
As for how this civilization was Destruction, most people don't dare to ask too much. Anyway, it's the kind of thing where those who know, know. If you ask ten thousand people, they would all sincerely believe that Rick Destruction it.
This shows that...
Just how dangerous is Rick?
He was an extreme mix of genius and scoundrel, with an unbelievably high IQ, capable of easily solving problems that most scientists couldn't solve in their entire lives.
Rick's abilities are virtually all-encompassing. He is one of the most advanced scientists in the Multiverse, proficient in physics, chemistry, biology, engineering, and countless other disciplines.
It can be said that he can define reality at will, and the only enemy who can defeat him is himself; he is a technological version of God in some form.
Having ability is not scary.
Human beings possess both ability and the seven emotions and six desires.
That would be truly terrifying.
Rick's ability to cause chaos that could Destruction an entire universe over something as trivial as playing a prank on his grandson is something that leaves Ian scratching his head in disbelief.
Ian remembered that Rick had invented a love potion, which caused an entire universe to be filled with people of the opposite sex. Thinking of this, he couldn't help but ask a question he absolutely had to ask.
Is this universe even habitable?
Ian finally recovered from the huge shock of hearing the name " Rick Sanchez".
He swallowed hard, clinging to the last glimmer of hope, and looked at Madison; " Little Punk Girl, could you—describe the Old Stonemason's physical characteristics in detail?"
"Like hair? Eyes?"
Ian still clung to a sliver of hope, hoping it might just be a case of the same name. He even buryed his head in the sand once again, trying to elicit some characteristics that weren't so " Rick."
However.
"You know my language skills aren't great. I can manage to describe someone as handsome or ugly, but the appearance of an ordinary old man—I just can't explain it."
Madison scratched her messy hair. Just as Ian breathed a slight sigh of relief, thinking that the description of "just an ordinary old man" might still hold some sway...
Suddenly, Madison slapped his forehead.
"But I have a better way to describe it!" she said, pulling a brand-new cell phone studded with rhinestones from her latest Chanel handbag.
The Little Punk Girl swished her manicured nails a few times on it.
"Look! This is a photo I took a few days ago when I helped him move stones!" This 50-megapixel phone takes great photos.
She held the phone right up to Ian's face.
Ian blinked.
He then raised his hand and pushed the Little Punk Girl's hand outward twice.
Only then was he able to see the whole picture.
The background of the photo is a cluttered yard filled with all sorts of oddly shaped stones and scrap metal. Madison is grinning and making a peace sign on the left. Next to her is a tall, thin old man with frizzy hair that looks like it's been struck by lightning, unfocused eyes as if he hasn't woken up yet, and a clear, glistening trail of drool at the corner of his mouth!
The other person was wearing a dirty white coat stained with various colors, and was even holding a half-empty wine bottle in his other hand. He had a smile on his face as if he was using some kind of medical device [ Chest Expander ] to pry open his mouth.
This image, this demeanor, this signature spittle—it can only be said that at this moment, the last shred of hope in Ian's heart completely collapsed, shattered by reality.
Rick Sanchez! He really is the one who can casually Destruction the universe, reboot reality, and make a complete mess of everything.
A chaotic, neutral technological Creator.
Ian's face was starting to turn rainbow-colored.
Fortunately, it ultimately settled on white.
It's whiter than if someone ate ten pounds of bleach.
He's even started rapidly planning in his Super Brain how to trick his dad, Clark, into moving his several homes to another parallel universe in his classic pose.
Or perhaps you could apply for asylum at Batman's mental hospital on Kepler-186f?
That's not safe enough.
" Ian? What's wrong?" Madison asked, noticing his sudden change in expression. "Is there some strange illness? Your face looks as white as if you've taken melatonin."
It's obvious.
The typical United States blonde girl has this level of common sense: melatonin helps with sleep, it doesn't bleach skin, most people know that, but blonde bombshells don't, and Ian is no longer in the mood to correct Madison's absurd knowledge about drugs.
"Hey Little Punk Girl, this isn't just any ordinary Old Stonemason, he's terrifying. Yes, don't look at me like that, I'm way more innocent than him."
"This is a true Demon King."
Ian sighed.
Madison frowned, unconvinced.
" Demon King? Impossible! If he were Demon King, why would he be banging on stones at home every night? Shouldn't Demon King be causing destruction?"
Madison's understanding of these terms has a very stereotypical flavor.
"Maybe he wasn't hammering rocks late at night, but tinkering with some technology that could turn us into putty," Ian explained listlessly.
The troubles of God's family hadn't even subsided when another new United States horror story appeared, making Ian wonder if he should burn some incense for his future self.
"Although he did always wear that dirty white lab coat and looked like a failed mad scientist, Madison remained convinced of his judgment."
"He genuinely accepted my order for the stone tablet! And he delivered it on time! Isn't that enough to prove he's a very skilled Old Stonemason?"
"The logic is so clear."
Madison was quite impressed with his own ability to create such a perfectly closed-loop logic.
"Is it possible that he finds it fun?" Ian looked at Madison's confident "I have perfect logic" look, and then felt the ridiculously high-tech stone chair under his buttocks, which seemed to be the same as the one in Heaven. He felt like he was sitting on pins and needles, as if he was sitting on a singularity bomb that could explode at any moment.
"Oh?"
Madison seemed to be deep in thought.
"Now that you mention it, it's actually quite possible. You don't know, the first thing I mentioned to him was that I wanted to sculpt [ God is dead, Ian shall rise]."
When I was about to use the stone tablet to fool—no, to enlighten those Angels — the Old Stonemason was overjoyed! He praised me for being clever and resourceful, saying I was an interesting soul!
Like Ian, Madison possessed the art of language that could even fool himself, though he wasn't entirely adept at using it, but fortunately, he corrected himself in time.
She was radiant and spoke eloquently.
"He also said he'd long disliked that old bastard God! The new God, he'll vote for you just like me. See how good the Old Stonemason's judgment is!"
These words were spoken.
Ian's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
"No, how did he know about me???" He felt like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, as if his soul was about to float out of his head.
Madison was completely oblivious to Ian's state of preparing for an astral projection and reincarnation. Instead, she became increasingly excited as she spoke, as if she could already see the magnificent scene of Ian being crowned as the new God.
"You taught me! You said, 'The masses are the foundation, and we can't lose the high ground of public opinion!' That's why I have such strong execution skills!" Madison lifted Ian's hand and patted his own shoulder hard.
She finally went mad, surpassing even her teacher in her madness.
The Little Punk Girl counted her "achievements" on her fingers. "Not only did I promote it to the Old Stonemason, but I also printed tons and tons of flyers!"
The design is fantastic! It features your handsome photo, which I photoshopped a bit, added some special effects, and included that resounding slogan. " God is dead, Ian shall rise!"
"Oh, and there's my improvisation: Believe in Ian, and you'll gain eternal life, and after death, you'll be directly registered as a VIP in Heaven. Hmm, I remember you said SVIP required payment."
Madison was truly a pragmatist.
Ian's eyelids twitched and his blood pressure soared. Madison, meanwhile, continued to boast, "I figured the Metropolis would be your base, so we should start there! That's why I gave the first box of flyers to your—well, that guy who looks a bit effeminate, always has a gloomy face, but charges very reasonable prices—to have him distribute them first!"
"My second brother?! Jordan?" Ian was stunned. He hadn't expected his family to be involved, and that he, as the person directly involved, had been kept in the Drummer the whole time.
"What kind of part-time jobs has Jordan been taking on behind his back?" Ian couldn't bear to imagine the tragic scene of the Second Generation Superman being chased by reporters and police on the streets of Metropolis, clutching a stack of outrageous rebellious leaflets.
" Jordan? Maybe that's his name? Anyway, it doesn't matter." Madison waved her hand dismissively, her brain clearly filtering out all the details she deemed unimportant. "My brain isn't very good at remembering things, so I generally don't bother remembering unimportant names. Anyway, he took the money and promised to help post them!"
"Once Metropolis, we'll march on Gotham! Then the whole of America! The whole world! We'll let everyone know that a new era has arrived!" The Little Punk Girl was already dreaming about the future.
Ian has completely become the "King of Confusion".
His brain couldn't process the massive amount of information about his suicidal tendencies. Looking at Madison's excited expression, as if he had done a great service to His Majesty, he had only one thought in his mind.
The Middle Ages are gone.
But this girl really looks like she wants to be burned at the stake!
No, damn it, I should go burn at the stake with one of them too!
Religion is a dangerous thing; who in their right mind would get involved? Once it starts causing trouble, it's impossible to calm down. It's hard to imagine how God's followers would react to seeing those leaflets.
As the one "becomes God," Ian would definitely have to join Madison and Jordan in making kebabs! Although it would be heartwarming, Ian still remembered that he needed a simple life.
Just like the ordinary life that every superhero yearns for.
certainly.
Ian's main goal is to fulfill the three-year deadline he set for himself, the setting of the Dragon King's return. He can't go, he can't follow; he's the most rational of this generation of superheroes.
"Da da da da~"
The sound of typing on the phone keypad rang out continuously. Ian frantically pulled out his phone, his fingers almost blurring out a blur, and frantically sent messages to his second Jordan.
[ Jordan! I don't care what Madison gave you! Burn it all! Immediately! Not a single one left! If anyone asks, say it was performance art! It was satire! It was fake! Okay, just say you were controlled by an alien's cerebellum! In short, absolutely, absolutely no more distribution!!!]
While texting Jordan, Ian also told Madison to stop doing that.
"You can't believe it, you dare? There really is God in this world!" Ian grabbed Madison's head, who was still dreaming about his global publicity plan, and shook him vigorously a few times.
He longed to shake all the water out of it.
However.
It doesn't seem to be very effective.
Seeing his anxious expression, Madison gave him an "I understand" look and nodded vigorously. "I know there is God in this world! But you are the one everyone hopes for, aren't you?"
"When all the Angels believe this, won't you become the true God? Then the original one will be a false God, right? This is called... listening... a strategic raid!"
Madison spoke eloquently, displaying the air of a wise man strategizing for the world.
What a brilliant raid!
Stealing God's house!
Ian's facial muscles gradually stiffened, to the point where he felt like he was about to develop lividity. Seeing Madison's "firmness" and self-consistency, he knew that reasoning with the Little Punk Girl was useless.
The most urgent thing is to change the subject; this is a family secret technique.
Ian forced a stiff smile, trying to steer the conversation back to the more dangerous source that might give her some pause.
" Little Punk Girl, take this flyer for example. Any reasonably normal person who sees your flyer would immediately think you've been framed, or that it's some kind of prank, right?"
Ian tried to make his voice sound persuasive. Madison thought for a moment, nodded, and seemed to agree.
Ian quickly pressed his advantage. "But! That old geezer—no, I mean Rick Sanchez—not only didn't think you were worshipping him, he actually supported you and even offered to vote for you—don't you think that's strange? Would a normal person do that?"
He tried to guide Madison to discover Rick's abnormality on her own.
Madison fell into serious thought again. Ian held his breath, hoping she would have an epiphany.
A few seconds later, Madison slammed his fist in his hand, his eyes lighting up as he drew a conclusion.
"I see. So the Old Stonemason was an Antichrist after all. That's great! No wonder he was so excited when he heard you wanted a stone tablet carved and even gave you a massage chair as a gift."
"I believe there are many people like the Old Stonemason in this world, certainly more than 51 percent." Madison seemed to interpret this as some kind of public opinion.
Ian was completely helpless.
He and Madison are simply not on the same wavelength.
Explaining Rick Sanchez's danger to Madison is like casting pearls before swine; the cow might even think your music is disturbing its grazing.
no way.
Ian could only be trying to comfort himself.
At least Madison saved Rick's wife? This suggests Rick still has family, a tiny, possibly existing Anchor Point of "humanity"? As long as he doesn't provoke that bastard, and stays far away from his house, perhaps—maybe—
Can they barely make ends meet?
Ian prepared himself mentally.
Just then, the school bell rang again.
This is a history lesson.
The history teacher was a middle-aged man named Mr. Wilson, who wore gold-rimmed glasses and had his hair neatly combed. He walked in carrying his desk, and his gaze habitually swept around the room. When he saw the stone chair under Ian's bottom and Madison, he paused noticeably, his lips twitching slightly, but he quickly regained his serious and stern expression.
"Students, open your textbooks to page 78." Mr. Wilson's voice was steady and flat. "Today we continue with the chapter 'The Colonization and Development of the Americas,' which tells the story of how the thirteen colonies of North America, through sheer willpower, wisdom, and a yearning for freedom, ultimately broke free from British colonial rule and laid the foundation for a great nation."
He began to recite from the script, recounting carefully selected and embellished historical accounts—such as the friendly and equal trade between early immigrants and local indigenous people, which brought advanced agricultural techniques and civilization.
Upon hearing this, countless images of ceiling blankets, treacherous treaties, and bloody Carnage flashed through Ian's Super Brain.
He knew that this truth was little known to Melika's servants.
"The War of Independence was a just and great struggle in pursuit of democracy and freedom, and all participants were noble patriots. The westward expansion embodied the American spirit of exploration and pioneering, and was an inevitable trend in national development." The history teacher's eloquent speech was essentially "correcting" history with the abilities of an ordinary person.
"Furthermore, everyone should remember that we played a crucial role as the ' Arsenal of Democracy ' during World War II, making an indelible contribution to saving world peace."
Mr. Wilson spoke passionately, attempting to implant a singular, glorious national narrative into the students' minds. The students' reactions varied. Most were drowsy or secretly playing on their phones under their desks. A few "good students" diligently took notes, absorbing the teacher's words like the back of their hand.
"What exactly are Ian and that bitch talking about?"
As Emily took notes, she would steal mournful glances at Ian, as if she were recording a tragic tale of her future husband being forced to live with a wicked force.
"I'm a ruthless test-taking machine; I just need to memorize the answers." Ian listened to these highly embellished historical accounts, feeling only indifferent to the realities of exam-oriented private education.
As he listened to the lecture, he pondered what level of Rick Rick was in and why he had merged into the DC Universe.
The history lesson proceeded slowly and methodically in this atmosphere of interwoven reality and absurdity, truth and fiction, and a sense of unease about the universe.
In a secluded bleachers stand at another high school in the Metropolis, Jordan Kent sat alone. He didn't join the noisy clubs or chat with his classmates; he simply found a quiet corner, as if only there could he find a sense of security.
He wore noise-canceling headphones, but no music was playing. He used this equipment merely to justify his reluctance to communicate. His gaze was fixed on the distance, across the city, precisely on the energetic figure running on the distant football field—his older brother, Jonathan Kent.
Jonathan was sweating it out on the court, every collision and every pass brimming with power, drawing cheers from the stands. Jordan watched quietly, a hint of envy in his eyes, but more so a habitual pride he felt for his brother.
Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
Jordan frowned slightly and reluctantly took out his phone. He didn't like being disturbed, especially when he was engrossed in his own world. The screen showed the sender as Ian.
" Ian?" Jordan was somewhat surprised. His quirky and unpredictable younger brother rarely contacted him unless he had gotten into some serious trouble that required his brothers to clean up his mess.
He opened the text message with a slight hint of unease, bracing himself for either a mental or emergency call for help.
However, the content of the text message was completely unexpected:
[My dear second Jordan:]
[When you see this message, I may be working towards some distant and grand goals. But no matter what, I have never forgotten that my family is my strongest support. Thank you for your constant silent support and understanding; your kindness and thoughtfulness are the gentlest treasures of this family.]
Please believe that everything I do is ultimately for the sake of making this family better and brighter. Please continue to believe in me, just as I believe in you.
[Your loving brother, Ian.]
Jordan: "..-.?"
He stood there, stunned, reading the text message three times.
There were no pranks, no strange requests, no vague words of thanks. There was only sincere gratitude, warm recognition, and even a touch of poetic sentiment.
Is this really from Ian?
Jordan's heart felt as if it had been gently bumped by something. A warm current, accompanied by surprise and emotion, slowly flowed through his body.
He knew they were talking about handing out flyers; he realized how much his younger brother cared about this! He realized that his seemingly insignificant help was so crucial to his brother's grand plan!
An unprecedented sense of responsibility and passion surged through Jordan's mind!
Her cheeks also felt slightly hot from the force of her kiss.
Family! My family is gone!
Ian is working hard to make this family "better and brighter"! He's even willing to challenge that supreme being! And how can he, on the other hand, simply hand out flyers? That's too superficial! Too lacking in skill! He must do more! Better! To be worthy of his brother's heavy trust and recognition!
"Money! I didn't lay down money!"
Jordan gripped his phone tightly, his eyes hardening with determination. He immediately opened the notes app and began typing furiously, his mind racing as he tried to fuel Madison's flyer campaign.
Ian has a talent for writing.
They were all raised in the same family.
How could he not have it?
"< Stocking Superman in Heaven: A Magnificent Comeback from a Lowly Angels to a Supreme God>". With Jordan's confirmation, the contents of the flyer became even more abundant.
Beginning: The Fallen Superhero.
Perhaps drawing inspiration from Ian's unpublished work, Jordan's first act was a royal flush.